


Broken On The Inside

by likethenight



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Anxiety, Falling In Love, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Getting Together, Healing, Light Angst, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rivendell | Imladris, Self-Esteem Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:27:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26860636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likethenight/pseuds/likethenight
Summary: Glorfindel, recovering from an injury sustained while sparring with the twins and Arwen, thinks on his time at the Last Homely House, home of the misfits, the outcasts, the broken and the damned. And Erestor, it turns out, has something to say to him.
Relationships: Erestor/Glorfindel (Tolkien)
Comments: 26
Kudos: 67
Collections: Innumerable Stars 2020





	Broken On The Inside

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lemurious](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemurious/gifts).



> Dear recipient, I hope this hits the mark! I've tried to include as much as possible of what you asked for; the story rather got away from me, as these things do, but I hope you like it! 
> 
> The twins and Arwen are rather closer in age here than in canon; as I wrote I found I had three worried Elflings on my hands, rather than two worried Elves and an Elfling, or three worried Elves.

All things considered, thought Glorfindel, immediately before he lost consciousness, it was a good thing he had come here when he had returned from Valinor, to the Last Homely House East of the Sea, where Eärendil’s son had established the greatest centre of healing in all of Middle-Earth. Because if there was one thing he was going to need, very imminently, it was a really excellent healer.

Three near-identical faces wearing frantic expressions floated above him - well, two of them _were_ identical, and the other was so alike to them that it was clear to all who saw them that they were siblings - and three voices clamoured over each other so that Glorfindel could not quite understand them, in his _really quite badly injured_ state. 

_Oh Glorfindel, we’re sorry, I’m sorry, Arwen run for Ada, no you run for Ada Elladan you’re faster oh if I’d only done it properly I wouldn’t have hurt him what if he dies again don’t be silly Elrohir he isn’t going to die he just needs bandages, and Ada, fine if you won’t run for him I’ll do it myself_ …

The voices followed Glorfindel down, down, down into unconsciousness, along with the trailing, unsteady thought that at least this time there was no Balrog, and he was not falling from a mountain, he was…

…he was in a bed, a comfortable bed, his _own_ bed?

“Ah, you are awake,” came a voice, familiar in its sternness although just for the moment Glorfindel could not quite place it. “What,” the voice continued, somewhat acidly, “were you _thinking_?”

Glorfindel struggled to open his eyes; his eyelids seemed unnaturally heavy, all of his limbs seemed to weigh as much as his whole body, and his head hurt. Actually, it didn’t just hurt; it felt as though an entire mountain’s worth of Dwarves were mining and digging and smithing away in there.

“Erestor?” he mumbled, or tried to; the word came out more slurred than he would have liked. “Is…that…you?”

“Of course it’s me.” The voice sounded exasperated, which Glorfindel had to admit was Erestor’s usual tone, especially when dealing with him, but also - was that a note of _worry_ in there? “Who else would be foolish enough to sit at your bedside and wait for you to wake from the drugged sleep into which Elrond put you when he brought you back here unconscious and bleeding profusely from a head wound? A head wound caused, if I understood the children correctly, by your utter _idiocy_ in offering to fight three Elflings simultaneously, with unblunted swords, _just to see if you could do it_?” Erestor sounded as though he was incandescent with rage, but was stifling it so that he did not raise his voice above the hushed murmur considered appropriate in the sickrooms here in the Houses of Healing…oh…maybe Glorfindel wasn’t in his own bed after all. Still, it was very comfortable…wait…Erestor had been speaking, had been telling him what he had done…

“Thanks…f’r th’recap," he slurred, his eyes fluttering closed again; the white walls were reflecting the sunlight, or Erestor was glowing or something, and really everything was far too bright.

Erestor sighed, that special exasperated sigh that he always saved just for Glorfindel. “The children are beside themselves. They think they killed you. Elrond and I have been attempting to reassure them, but I think only sight of you will make them realise that you are not dead - _again_ \- and no, before you suggest it, they are not coming in here until you are more coherent and less likely to frighten them even further out of their wits than you already have.”

“Mm-hm,” said Glorfindel, or he thought he did, but maybe he didn’t, because the next thing he knew he was - on a mountainside, the wind whipping his hair into his eyes, the heat of fire all around him but none of the smell, he couldn’t smell the smoke or the singed hair or - and then, mercifully, everything went black.

He found himself back on that mountainside two or three more times, but each time all he could see was his hair in his eyes, all he could feel was the heat, but there was no sound, no smell, and every time he descended into blackness before it caught him. And eventually the dreams cleared and he blinked awake, gasping for breath, the white light in his eyes again, dazzling him, and another familiar voice.

“Ah, you are awake.” The voice was deep and calm, not Erestor this time. Elrond, his soft tones a balm upon Glorfindel’s aching brow. “How are you feeling?”

“As though my head is going to split in two,” Glorfindel said, closing his eyes against the light. “How are the children?”

“Somewhat reassured for having been allowed in to look at you while you were sleeping,” said Elrond. “They are all very sorry.”

“Not their fault,” said Glorfindel a little hazily. “Mine. At least, I think. Erestor said -“

Elrond laughed softly. “Erestor was particularly upset. As far as I can gather from the children, it was an accident. Although perhaps they are not ready for the unblunted swords just yet.”

Glorfindel groaned. “I wanted to teach them to be careful. I think. I don’t really remember.” 

“They were not entirely clear in their explanation,” said Elrond, “but it seems that in their enthusiasm they all came at you at once and knocked you down, and one of them - none of them seems quite sure who - caught you a blow upon your temple. I suspect it was with the hilt of a sword rather than the blade, going by the injury, but as head wounds do, it bled a great deal, and it did knock you out.”

“Oh,” said Glorfindel, turning this information over rather gingerly in his mind. 

“Indeed,” said Elrond. “But fortunately they had the sense to fetch me, and you were soon brought back here. I gave you a draught for the pain, and to make you sleep off the worst of the injury, but I do not think they have done you any permanent damage.” There was a smile in his voice, his tone gently teasing, as he said, “I am sure that in years to come, when the shock has worn off, they will be most proud of having bested the famous Balrog-slayer.”

“Oh, Valar,” said Glorfindel, “ _don’t_.” He was still not entirely comfortable with his legacy, such as it was, and he was not sure how he felt about Elrond’s suggestion, though he knew it had been made in jest.

“Or not, as you prefer,” said Elrond. “Now, perhaps you should sleep a little more, and when you wake I will have some food sent in to you. I presume you are not hungry at the moment?”

Glorfindel’s stomach turned over at the merest suggestion of food. “Not at all,” he said. “And I - I don’t know if I want to sleep, either. I kept dreaming I was…back _there_. Gondolin. At the end.”

“I see,” said Elrond. “Would you like something to take the edge off the dreams?”

Glorfindel shook his head, then immediately regretted it as a bolt of pain shot through him. “No, thank you. But something for the pain, perhaps?” He hated the pathetic sound of his voice, as though he were begging, and he cut off that thought very firmly. He had come a long way in his time in Imladris, and he was mostly beyond that way of thinking now. Mostly.

“Something for the pain,” said Elrond, “of course,” and he rose to examine an array of bottles and pots on a table on the other side of the small room. In a moment he returned with a beaker filled with a draught that smelled of feverfew and ginger root; Glorfindel took it and obediently drank it, though he could not help making a face at the taste. Elrond smiled. “It should help the nausea, as well, and it will settle your mind if you do decide to try and sleep. But even if you do not, you must promise me that you will stay still and quiet. An injury like that needs proper rest.”

Glorfindel made an unconvinced sound, but it was mainly for show, and he knew Elrond knew it. He genuinely had no desire to get up and go wandering around at this precise moment, just as he did not want to go back to sleep. 

“I will return to check on you later,” said Elrond with a smile, “and I am sure Erestor will be in to see you at some point. He has, I am certain, still some more scolding in reserve for you.”

Glorfindel groaned, much as he knew he deserved it, and much as he thought he was looking forward to any scolding Erestor might feel inclined to give him, and Elrond chuckled. 

“I will leave you to your peace and quiet,” he said, and he left the room, his robes swishing behind him against the stone floor as he went. 

Glorfindel sighed, and closed his eyes. Alone with his thoughts, he was now, which was not exactly his favourite condition, or his favourite company. He had come a long way since he had arrived in Imladris, fresh from Valinor and searching for his purpose, but he still was not truly at ease with himself. 

He had been more in need of the healing of the Last Homely House than most when he had arrived, he thought, although all of his bodily wounds had been left behind and his new body bore not even a scar. He still thought it might have been easier to bear if it had been marked, if there had been some evidence of what had happened to him, an outward sign to echo the roiling, aching turmoil in his heart and his mind.

But he was perfect, physically at least, not a single mark upon his smooth, golden skin, his features regular, almost symmetrical, utterly flawless, his hair - oh, _Valar_ , his hair, how he hated it, as much as he loved it, falling in perfect golden waves down his back. He thought the Valar must be having a cruel joke at his expense, sending him back in exactly the same form as he had worn before, with no sign of his demise. As though it had never happened.

But he remembered it. In his first years in Imladris, the nightmares woke him more often than not, and it was a rare occurrence for him to sleep peacefully through the night. Terrible dreams of fire and flame tortured him at night, and by day his torturer was his own mind again, although not in so visual a form. He was tormented by thoughts of his own inadequacy, his pathetic stupidity, his recklessness, his _hubris_ ; just who had he thought he was, to go out there alone on the mountainside, his hair streaming in the wind like a banner, setting himself up as the protector of his people when all he had ever been was a pathetic fraud with not a single hope of success? Ecthelion had been the best of them - _Ecthelion_ , Glorfindel’s heart clutched in pain at the thought of him, even after all this time - and he had been bested, drowned in his own fountain. How had Glorfindel ever thought he would be able to do better? And yet he had thought so, had had such an arrogant, inflated opinion of his own importance, and he had not been able to kill the creature without it killing him into the bargain. _But my people were able to escape through my sacrifice_ , he would try to tell himself, but the voices in his head only laughed at him and called him pathetic, over and over again.

“I don’t understand what the point is of me being here,” he had said to Elrond once, when he was deep in his cups, the wine giving him the courage to broach the subject; he would never have been brave enough sober. “I’m not who I was. I can’t do anything, I can’t even sleep through the night. I’m - I’m broken.”

“So are we all,” Elrond had said, “to one degree or another. This is the home for the misfits, the outcasts, the broken and the damned. My doors are always open, to everyone, and help is always available here, to anyone who needs it, whether it be healing or friendship or a place to rest that they require.”

“I think I need all three of those,” Glorfindel had said, “and probably some other things besides.”

“And you will find them here,” Elrond had smiled, one hand on Glorfindel’s shoulder, “if you can find the strength to allow yourself to accept them. It will be the broken ones who save the world, at the end of all things, I am sure of it.”

Glorfindel had paid a little more attention to his surroundings after that conversation, and soon he had noticed that many of the inhabitants of Imladris were not the physically perfect examples of Elvenkind that he had assumed they were. Here was a war veteran with a prosthetic arm made of delicately wrought metal and ceramic, there was a serving-girl with a twisted foot that gave her a limp but did not seem to impede her progress across the Hall of Fire, there was a hunter with the lower part of his left leg missing, who swung himself along on crutches but who sat a horse just as skilfully as everyone else. And it made Glorfindel think about Gondolin, and the lands of his childhood, where he did not think he had ever seen anyone who was not considered whole and perfect; what had happened to the children who were born different, he wondered, where had the survivors of all the terrible battles been? There had been no place for them there, but here, in this river valley presided over by the son of Eärendil and Elwing (and of Maglor and Maedhros; Glorfindel thought he had inferred that correctly, although he was not entirely sure; it was a somewhat confusing story), everyone was welcomed, accommodated and integrated, and every last one of them was _valued_.

Even the Balrog-Slayer, who could not sleep through the night without waking screaming in terror. Broken as he was inside, unfit as he was for whatever task the Valar had sent him back to carry out, he was welcome here. He had found himself drawn to help out in the houses of healing, and there he had met Erestor, a refugee from Gondolin who had drifted from place to place until he had thrown in his lot with Elrond. He worked with the sick and the injured, designing methods of helping them, whether it be calming rituals or prosthetic limbs; he also oversaw Elrond’s vast library, and it was rumoured that there was nothing he did not know, no obscure piece of knowledge he had not already learned and committed to memory. 

Glorfindel did not remember Erestor from Gondolin, but Erestor remembered him, it seemed; but he never commented on how different Glorfindel was now, simply accepted him as he was, and treated him the same as he treated everyone else. Which was to say, with a sharp tongue and a prickly demeanour, but underneath it all Glorfindel had thought he might dare to hope that a kind of affection was developing, though Erestor always did his best not to show it.

Of course, Glorfindel thought, coming back to the present with some difficulty, he was still not entirely sure what Erestor thought of him. He thought he was not reading too much into Erestor’s general air of exasperation where he was concerned, when he interpreted it as covering up for at least some degree of affection. But it was always he who sought out Erestor’s company, never the other way around, and Glorfindel could not work out whether that actually _meant_ something, or whether it was just that Erestor was the sort of person who was quite happy in his own company, whereas Glorfindel had always been outgoing, gregarious, never happier than when he was surrounded by his friends. Although these days, he had to admit, his circle of friends was smaller than it had been in Gondolin. Fewer people to choose from, of course, but also, he thought, fewer people to let down, when he inevitably failed at whatever the task was that the Valar were going to give him eventually. He could quite happily hold court in the Hall of Fire these days, surrounded by people, but his close friends he could count upon the fingers of one hand: Elrond, Celebrían, Lindir perhaps - and Erestor.

Well, two hands, if one counted the children, which Glorfindel was inclined to do. They were growing up now, all three of them, but they were so refreshingly young and straightforward. They accepted him for who he was, not who he had been, although they knew and understood about his former life. They understood that he did not like to talk about it very much, and he often sought them out when the memories grew particularly strong and threatened to drag him down again; they distracted him and anchored him in the present. Which was, more or less, how he had ended up in this bed with a fairly serious head injury; he had been feeling out of sorts and had suggested to the children that they do a bit of sparring. Of course, he had been reckless, encouraged by their growing skill with their swords, and now here he was. 

Well, he thought, there were worse places to injure oneself. He could have been out in the wilds, or in Lothlórien, or, Valar forfend, in the Greenwood. He did not know much about Oropher’s son, who was King there now, but he was fairly sure he would not have been welcomed with open arms there, nor would he have received such a high standard of medical care.

He sometimes wondered what had inspired Elrond to found this sanctuary for misfits here in the Valley of the Bruinen. Perhaps it was his childhood experiences as an orphan, a refugee, a hostage. He must have seen much of the effects of war. Or perhaps it was the experience of living with his - kidnappers? foster fathers? Glorfindel had never quite liked to ask - for one did not get more misfit, or more damned, than the eldest sons of Fëanor. Or perhaps it was the experience of witnessing his twin brother choosing the Gift of Men, growing old and dying. Glorfindel definitely did not like to ask about that. As well as wondering about Elrond’s motivations, he also often wondered how on Arda his friend had become so compassionate, so caring, after the life he had had, after all he had seen. And yet - and yet perhaps it was precisely those experiences which had shaped Elrond’s character; perhaps he had actively chosen the way of peace as opposed to the way of trauma and bitterness. Glorfindel thought he himself could learn a lesson or two from that.

A soft knock sounded at the door, and he murmured, “Come in.” The door eased open very slowly, and three almost-identical heads peeped round it. 

“Glorfindel,” one of them whispered - he was not sure, in his still-somewhat-dazed state, which one of them it was.

“We’re sorry,” another one piped - this time he thought it was Arwen.

“We didn’t mean to hurt you,” said the third - so by a process of deduction, the first one must have been either Elladan or Elrohir, and this one must be either Elrohir or Elladan.

“I know, pin-neth,” Glorfindel said softly. “Come in properly, will you, I can’t focus on you like that.”

They filed into the room, all of them looking dejected and repentant, and each of them took a chair from along the wall and came to sit by the bed in a row. Dressed in tunics and leggings, they really did all look more or less the same, although the boys were truly identical and Arwen was very slightly softer about the face.

“We’re sorry,” Elladan-or-Elrohir said again, and Glorfindel flapped a hand dismissively.

“Not your fault,” he said. “I should have known better, as Erestor has already pointed out to me.” He grinned at them, or he tried to, and was rewarded with three tiny giggles.

“We saw him earlier,” said Arwen. “He looked very cross.”

“Which he is,” said Glorfindel, “but with me, so you must not worry. Nobody is going to be scolding you three today, or not if I have anything to do with it, anyway.”

“How are you going to stop them?” asked Elrohir-or-Elladan. “You’re stuck here.”

“Good point,” said Glorfindel. “All right, how about this? If you get a scolding, you look sad and say you’re very sorry, and then you come and tell me who it was, and I’ll have a word with them and make sure they take it back, so then you’ll be unscolded and everything will be all right.”

“Well, we _are_ very sorry,” said Arwen, “so that wouldn’t be wrong.”

“And so am I,” said Glorfindel. “Not least because I’m stuck here with a splitting headache and not up and about having fun with you three.”

“Did Ada say how long you had to stay in bed?” asked one of the twins, and Glorfindel shrugged. 

“Not in so many words,” he said. “But I had the distinct impression I would be expected to stay here at least the rest of the day, and if I am completely honest with you, I don’t much feel like getting up yet.”

“Can we stay with you for a while?” asked the other twin, and Glorfindel smiled.

“Of course you can, pin-neth. Only, quietly, please? My head hurts.”

“We’ll be quiet as mice,” promised Arwen, leaning over to pat Glorfindel’s shoulder very gently.

“I won’t be very interesting company, I’m afraid,” he said, feeling his eyelids beginning to droop. “I’m suddenly really very tired indeed.”

“Then go to sleep,” said Arwen. “We’ll sing for you, won’t we?” 

Glorfindel just caught her glancing at one brother and then the other before his eyelids became too heavy to hold them open any more; and then three little voices began to sing, softly, a simple little ditty about the river and the woodland, their high, clear tones harmonising quite beautifully. For the second time that day, the sound of their voices followed him down into unconsciousness, and he could feel himself smiling, although he wasn’t sure if it was outwardly visible.

When he woke again it was dark outside and there was a lamp burning on the table beside his bed, the wick turned down low so that the light was just a warm glow illuminating the room. Glorfindel blinked; the light did not hurt his eyes, and he thought his head hurt a little less. 

“Ah,” came a soft voice, “you are awake.” It sounded like Erestor, but - not entirely; the usual tone of complete exasperation was gone, and in its place was a sort of warm, affectionate fondness. Glorfindel blinked again, clearly he was not yet thinking straight, because really, Erestor, _fondness_?

He turned his head a little, and there, indeed, was Erestor, his chair pulled right up to the side of Glorfindel’s bed, his hands folded in his lap. Glorfindel thought he looked rather as though he was clasping his hands together very tightly, his knuckles appearing almost white in the dim light, but his vision was still a little blurred and the light was indeed very dim, so he was probably imagining it.

“Hello,” he said, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth despite himself. “How long have you been sitting there?”

“Long enough,” said Erestor, and he sounded as though he was trying for his usual level of asperity but not quite managing to reach it.

“Sorry,” said Glorfindel. “I know I’m a terrible inconvenience to you, most of the time.”

Erestor scoffed quietly. “Do not flatter yourself,” he said, but there was that strange note in his voice still, and Glorfindel found that his heart wanted to stutter and seize in his chest.

“If I don’t do that, there’s nothing left of me,” he said, trying for a joke and utterly failing; he could almost hear the sound of it falling flat.

Erestor rolled his eyes. “You are fishing for compliments,” he pointed out, and Glorfindel attempted a shrug, although it was not altogether easy, given that he was still lying flat on his back.

“It’s among my more charming traits,” he said.

Erestor was silent for a moment, but Glorfindel could see his jaw clenching, as though he were biting back words, sifting through responses and discarding each one; this was unusual, Glorfindel thought, for Erestor always had the perfect rejoinder for every situation, the perfect riposte to every one of Glorfindel’s often grandiose pronouncements.

“Will you just, for one moment, stop doing that?” Erestor said eventually, and Glorfindel blinked, frowning.

“Stop doing what?” he asked, genuinely confused, and Erestor gave a hard, frustrated little sigh. 

“Deflecting. Fishing. Saying things to me that are absolutely meaningless. I have had enough of it.”

“I - but - that’s just what I do,” said Glorfindel, somewhat lamely, and Erestor rolled his eyes again.

“I know, and it drives me to distraction,” he said. “I know the burdens you carry, and yet you will never speak to me about them. You are always too busy pretending that everything is fine, that you are the great and mighty Balrog-Slayer who fears nothing, but I know that you are lying. You lie to me, Glorfindel, every single day, and I am sick of it.”

Glorfindel just looked at him, completely bewildered, and found that he had absolutely no idea what to say.

“I know you wake in the night,” said Erestor. “I know your dreams torture you still, and I have watched you when you think nobody is looking. I have read your face and I know all is not well with you. I have been waiting for you to come to me and tell me about it for _centuries_ , and yet you insist on continuing with this _charade_.” His voice was growing tenser, almost angry, and Glorfindel frowned.

“But you’ve never - I don’t know, I never had the…the impression that you…” He trailed off for a moment, trying to marshal his thoughts. “I didn’t think you’d be interested,” he said eventually, very quietly, closing his eyes so that he did not have to look at Erestor while he made his confession.

Erestor sighed. “And it never occurred to you that I might be?”

“I didn’t want to bother you,” admitted Glorfindel, his voice now barely more than a whisper. “I - you are always so busy, and I am not important.”

Erestor sighed again, and Glorfindel was surprised to hear a hitch in his voice as he spoke. “How could you ever think that?” he demanded. “You are the most important -“ And then he broke off, and Glorfindel opened his eyes to see a tense, stricken expression on Erestor’s lovely face, Erestor’s beautiful, long-fingered hands twisting in his lap.

Glorfindel shook his head, and instantly regretted it as a sharp pain shot across behind his temples. He flinched and gasped, and closed his eyes again. “I’m just the idiot who didn’t even bother to tie his hair up before going into battle,” he muttered. “I don’t know what I’m doing here.”

“Being my friend?” Erestor ventured, softly, his tone unsure. “I am sure the Valar have a purpose for you, but until it is revealed, I - I hoped that -“

“Of course I’m your friend,” said Glorfindel hotly, opening his eyes again, although he was careful not to move his head this time. “I just wasn’t sure you - well, I wasn’t sure you had very much time for me.”

Erestor laughed, a breathless, almost desperate sound. “We are a fine pair,” he said after a moment. “I am - I am _deeply_ anxious, about everything, every second of every day. I have to be in absolute control of all I am responsible for. Everything has to be just so, and that includes my - my feelings.” He drew in a long, shaky breath, and let it out again before he continued. “So I have my control, and that enables me to get through each day. But I cannot control you. You are - you are chaos personified, Glorfindel, and you get inside all of my defences. I never know what to expect from you, and that -“ Another pause, and Glorfindel frowned, what was Erestor saying? “That makes me nervous. Anxious. It frightens me. _You_ frighten me.” Erestor closed his mouth with a snap, looking down at his hands, still twisting in his lap.

“I - um. I’m sorry?” said Glorfindel after a moment, not entirely sure what to say, not sure what Erestor meant. 

Erestor sighed. “Do not apologise. The fault is not yours, but mine. You see, I am - I am broken inside, just as I think you are. Just as everyone is who has found sanctuary here - we are all broken, either inwardly or outwardly. Some of us are both. We would not last five minutes in some other realms. But here, we have found acceptance, peace, perhaps even healing. We are accepted for who we are, not who we should be, according to all those millennia of cultural practice.”

“I am _so_ broken,” said Glorfindel quietly. “And - also very confused. I’m not sure what you’re trying to say to me.”

“Neither am I,” murmured Erestor upon another sigh. “I just - you frighten me, but you fascinate me. You make me uncomfortable, but I want nothing more than your company. You confuse me. But this afternoon, when they brought you in on a stretcher, and you were so still and you were _bleeding_ , and for one awful moment I thought - well, never mind what I thought. But I promised myself that I would talk to you, for once. I did not do a very good job of it, earlier, but I am here now.”

“You’re not doing a fantastic job of it now,” said Glorfindel, and was gratified to see a small smile appear on Erestor’s lips.

“I cannot seem to find the words. Or perhaps it is courage I am lacking, for I know the words, and there are not so very many of them.”

Glorfindel thought for a moment, and then decided that he could probably afford to leap to a conclusion, given the evidence Erestor had provided him with. 

“Erestor,” he said, “are you trying to tell me that you - have feelings for me?”

Erestor made a noise that sounded partway between a sigh and a laugh, and covered his face with his hands. “Yes, I am. More accurately, I am trying - and clearly failing - to tell you that I love you. I have loved you for longer than I quite like to admit.”

“I see,” said Glorfindel, his thoughts suddenly a confused jumble of confusion and disbelief and gratitude and - joy, he thought, that was it. And his heart was beating rather harder than it usually did.

“I am sorry,” said Erestor, “I did not mean to impose, and if you do not feel the same then I - I only - I had to tell you, if only to get it out in the open and hopefully - hopefully regain some control over the situation.” He dropped his hands to his lap and began twisting his fingers together again.

Glorfindel laughed softly. “Don’t be an idiot. Have I said I don’t feel the same?”

“No-o,” said Erestor slowly.

“Well, then. Look, I - you - you are a little way ahead of me here, but only because I never thought you would want to be bothered with me, so I did not let myself move beyond - well, respect, and affection, and…all right, maybe I did, a little bit, but I always reasoned there was no point because why on earth would the most erudite Elf in Imladris want anything to do with this great oaf?”

“Have you ever once looked at yourself in the mirror?” demanded Erestor, a hint of his usual acidity in his voice. 

“I try not to,” said Glorfindel. “Can’t bear seeing that arrogant idiot still there, even after everything.”

Erestor shook his head, and sighed, and unlaced his fingers so that he could reach out and brush a lock of hair back from Glorfindel’s forehead. “You are the most beautiful person I have ever laid eyes upon,” he said. “You were then, in Gondolin, and I never had the courage to approach you, or even to come within ten feet of you. But now - now I have come to know you, and to understand who you are beneath your façade, and I know that you are much more than your annoyingly lovely face or your really quite distractingly perfect body.”

“Carry on,” said Glorfindel, trying for levity to dispel the discomfort he felt at the reminder of his unscarred appearance. “don’t let me stop you there.”

“Stop fishing,” said Erestor not-quite-sharply, “I am trying to tell you how I feel about you.”

“Sorry,” said Glorfindel, closing his eyes for a moment. “Only - I didn’t think I could ever be -“ He broke off, unwilling or unable to put it into words. 

“Someone I could want? Someone I could need, could _love_? Perhaps you should stop letting yourself think about this matter, and trust me to make up my own mind.”

“I’m sorry,” said Glorfindel again. “Only you’re so - you’re so wise, and so clever, and you’re so kind to everyone, even though you try not to show it. I’ve seen you in the healing house, when you think nobody’s watching you. You make sure everyone is comfortable, you bring them nice things, you let them have books to read from the library, you always find exactly the best way of helping them. You do all of it without being asked, and you never, ever take the credit for it. You have your façade too, Erestor, and I wanted - I _want_ \- to be allowed behind it. I just -“ He trailed off again, running out of words.

“We are a fine pair,” said Erestor again. “Both of us twisted up with anxiety and worries, both of us hiding behind the faces we wear so that nobody will ever see what is going on inside. But I see you, Glorfindel, I know you. And I love you. I would have all of you, if you would let me.”

Glorfindel found he had to swallow against a sudden tightness in his throat. “Of course I’ll let you. Only, you can’t exactly _have_ me just now.” He wiggled his eyebrows, was gratified to find that the movement didn’t hurt, and flashed Erestor a grin.

“Stop it,” said Erestor. “Stop hiding behind your jokes and your outrageous pronouncements.”

“I’m not,” said Glorfindel. “Honestly. I’m just…joking with you. Sharing a joke with you. I’m not hiding, I’m inviting you in.”

“Oh,” said Erestor, looking suddenly, endearingly lost. 

“Look,” said Glorfindel, reaching out to place his hand over Erestor’s where they had knotted themselves back together in his lap, “I’d be taking you into my arms just now, only I can’t exactly move, let alone sit up, let _alone_ put my arms around you, so will you - will you just come here to me? So I can reach you?” He tugged gently on Erestor’s hands. 

“Oh,” said Erestor again, shifting so that he could lean over the bed, placing his hands one on either side of Glorfindel’s head; Glorfindel smoothed his hands up Erestor’s arms, resting for a moment upon his shoulders, and then ventured to smooth his fingers over Erestor’s hair, down the side of his face, cupping his jaw in one hand and letting the other slip under Erestor’s hair to the back of his head, cradling it gently.

“You are _so_ beautiful,” he said. “It almost hurts to look at you, or it did, when I thought you wouldn’t - _couldn’t_ \- ever want me. And I think - no, I _know_ \- that I have loved you since I met you. I just closed it away, tried not to feel it, because I thought that I couldn’t. And now that I know that you can, you _do_ , I…I can too, and I -“ He trailed off. “I’m not making any sense.”

“The head wound is probably not helping,” said Erestor. “But I understand you anyway.”

“I suppose it isn’t,” said Glorfindel, and then, urgently, as a thought occurred to him, “I’m not just saying this because I hit my head, by the way. I mean, hitting my head has brought me here, and brought you here, and provided the opportunity, so I suppose in some ways I am, but - but I mean every word of it. I’m not making it up because I took a blow to my head from the butt of an Elfling's sword.” He huffed out a frustrated breath. “And I would really, _really_ like to kiss you, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course I don’t mind.” Erestor laughed very softly. “I would very much like you to.”

“Well, I can’t come to you, so you’ll just have to come down here to me,” said Glorfindel, and Erestor smiled down at him.

“All right, then,” he said, and he bent his head and very carefully pressed his lips to Glorfindel’s, his dark lashes fluttering down to form crescents upon his cheeks. Glorfindel looked for a moment, though he could not quite focus, being too close as well as still slightly out-of-kilter from his injury, and then let his eyes slip closed, sifting his fingers through Erestor’s soft black hair - so soft, he thought distractedly, like silk.

Too soon, Erestor was pulling away, and Glorfindel made a disapproving noise deep in his throat, no, that kiss had not been nearly enough. It had been wonderful, certainly, but too brief, too chaste, too - too much in the _singular_. One kiss, no - well, yes, but plural kisses, _yes_ , very much better.

“Come here,” he murmured, “and do that again.”

“I am not sure you are in a fit state,” said Erestor, his eyes dancing, and it took Glorfindel an embarrassingly long moment to realise that Erestor was making a _joke_.

“I’m in a very fit state,” he said, “as long as you’re gentle with me. Anyway, that’s my job. Joking, I mean.”

“I think you will find that you do not hold the monopoly on humour,” said Erestor, a tiny smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

“We’ll have to see about that,” said Glorfindel, “but not now. Come here and kiss me again.” He tightened his grip a little upon the back of Erestor’s head, and tugged gently, and after a moment or two Erestor stopped resisting and leaned down to kiss him again. This time was - oh, the first was delightful, but this one was even better, longer, _lingering_ , and definitely less chaste. Glorfindel parted his lips, just a little, to see if Erestor would follow suit, and when he did, Glorfindel very gently nudged his tongue against Erestor’s, feeling a shiver running through him at the contact. Erestor made a tiny, delighted-sounding noise at that, and Glorfindel thought he could risk pulling him closer, kissing him deeper, harder, as long as he did not move his head he would be fine.

Eventually Erestor pulled back again, his eyes dark and his breathing a little uneven, and Glorfindel marvelled to look at him, to know that it was he who had disrupted Erestor’s famed composure so. 

“I think we should stop there, for this evening,” said Erestor a little breathlessly, and Glorfindel pulled a disappointed face. “Stop that. You are in no fit state for what I will want to do to you if we continue.”

Glorfindel’s eyes widened, and then he grinned. “Give me a couple of days to recover and you can do whatever you like to me.” His grin softened to a smile, and he smoothed a stray strand of hair out of Erestor’s eyes. “Only - don’t go? Stay with me?”

“Of course I will stay,” said Erestor. “I will sit beside you until Elrond deems you fit enough to get out of bed.”

Glorfindel shook his head, not caring for the pain the movement brought. “No you won’t,” he said, very carefully shifting over so that he could make room on the mattress. “You’re getting in here, with me, and you’re going to sleep in my arms. And when Elrond says I can get out of this bed, I’m going straight to yours, and so are you, and we’re not going to get out of it for at least a day.”

Erestor laughed softly. “I see. Is this how it is going to be from now on? You issuing orders and expecting me to obey?”

“Not at all,” said Glorfindel. “I’m only making suggestions. Very wise suggestions. The best suggestions. They’re so good that you won’t be able to object to them at all.”

Erestor laughed again. “I suppose I can see the wisdom in both of your - _suggestions_ ,” he said. “Perhaps I shall do both those things.”

“I think you should,” said Glorfindel, and he let one finger trace the line of Erestor’s brow, his cheekbone, his jaw, his lips. “Or at least, I would like it very much if you did.”

Erestor closed his eyes for a moment under Glorfindel’s touch, then opened them again, a soft smile upon his face and his heart in his eyes. “Then I shall,” he said, and he stood up to unclasp his robe and step out of it, folding it neatly and placing it on the chair, and unlaced his boots and slipped them off, setting them neatly by the side of the bed; he left his shirt and leggings on. Then he eased the covers back and climbed into the bed, slowly and carefully so as not to jolt the mattress, and Glorfindel thought he felt his heart expanding at the care with which Erestor settled beside him, trying his best not to disturb him. 

“I love you,” he whispered, “very much, and I am glad you came to see me tonight, though I am not so proud of the reason that brought you here.”

Erestor very gently brushed a kiss across his brow. “And I love you,” he said, “and you must not worry any more. All will be well. I will make it so.”

“I never doubted you,” said Glorfindel. “Only myself.”

“I know, meleth-nín,” said Erestor, and Glorfindel smiled to hear the endearment in Erestor’s deep voice, to know that it applied to _him_. “Now go to sleep. I will hold you.”

Glorfindel opened his mouth to reply, but found that he had nothing to say, no words that could possibly be adequate to express what he was feeling, so he settled for a contented sigh, lacing his fingers through Erestor’s, and closed his eyes. Two broken souls they may be, but he thought he would sleep easily tonight, no room for the dreams of his past to sneak past the defence of Erestor’s strong arms around him, his soft breathing and the utter certainty of his love.

**Author's Note:**

>  _pin-neth_ : little ones  
>  _meleth-nín_ : my love


End file.
